


The Case of the Weapon of Heaven With Mixed Loyalties

by friendly_muttonchops



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendly_muttonchops/pseuds/friendly_muttonchops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley wants something, and Castiel knows exactly how to get it. The King of Hell will do anything to get what he wants, and if that means torturing his old business partner, so be it. What will Cas do to protect the secret? Also, there's a bit of Destiel thrown into the mix just for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I do not own the Winchesters, Crowley, Castiel, or any other characters. *sigh*

Dean opened his eyes to find himself in a dark and damp warehouse, tied to a pole. He could feel the cool metal pressed against his wrists, which were tied together with a rough twine. He shifted to his right, and found Sam in a similar situation, only unconscious. He felt a warm trickle of something he assumed to be blood running down his cheek from his temple. Not too shabby for a couple of demons he thought bitterly, remembering their ambush during which he, Sam, and Castiel had all been captured.

_Hey, come to think of it, where was the Holy Tax Accountant?_

He looked around, noticing a shard of glass near Sammy, but to his dismay, found no sign of his favorite angel. The warehouse was fairly plain, a nasty looking chair with metal cuffs stood in the center and multiple doors decorated the walls, but no angel. He heard a slight moan and the scrape of rope on metal.

“Hey, hey, Sammy, you with me?” he asked quietly; the attention of near-by demons was the last thing they needed.

“Yeah, I’m good. What’s the-” They both froze as a door to the right of the brothers opened and out stepped three demons, Crowley, and Castiel. The angels looked a bit shaken, but otherwise unharmed. Crowley on the other hand, sported a healthy gash on the side of his face, arcing from just below the temple to his chin. Dean felt a glowing pride for Cas; the guy had at least put up a fight. The demons roughly escorted Castiel to the chair. They clasped his hands into the cuffs, confining him to the chair.

“I will never tell you where it is,” Cas spat at Crowley, in his gruff voice. Where what is? Dean wondered. *click* His feet were now attached to the legs of the chair. The demons retreated to positions a few feet behind the chair, facing the Winchesters.

“Oh, we’ll see about that, cupcake.” Crowley replied, a sly smile creeping onto his face, making the cut dance. He returned to the doorway and disappeared for a good ten seconds. Dean heard the creak of wheels before he saw the cart. It was piled high with various means of torture; angel blades, holy oil, bullets crafted from melted angel blades, and many more. The King of Hell brought it forward, letting it roll to a stop mere inches from Cas. The angel maintained a cool and defiant countenance, but Dean could tell there was a hint of fear in his eyes.

“I am going to tear you apart, Castiel, and I am going to make them watch.” Crowley gestured in Sam’s direction, brandishing a short and jagged angel blade. It looked custom made. Did he have people on his side that could make angel blades? That is serious bad news. He made a show of clothing himself in a white apron speckled with faded blood stains.

“You sonofabitch,” Dean snarled. This, this, was why he was going to kill him first. Not because of any genocide or homicide or whatever-cide, but because he was going to torture his friend. Cas had put them through some crap, but after everything, he still came back. After acting like a diva and playing God, he still came back around to try and fix everything. Sure, he didn’t exactly send the world a fruit basket, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Hope that stings,” Sam said, referring to the cut and gradually forming bruise on Crowley’s face.

“My mistake of letting the varmint near my toys,” Crowley replied, glancing at the cart. Dean could’ve sworn he saw a glint of satisfaction on Cas’s face. He tested his bonds, feeling for a weak spot, and when he found none, he began to panic. Keep it cool, he thought to himself, every trap has a way out. Just a matter of finding it. He shifted his weight to his left, using his right foot to search his leg for any of his hidden daggers and knives. He could see Sammy doing the same.

“No use, moose. I’ve stripped you of your pretty little blades. Now just sit tight and if you’re lucky, I might let you have a minute alone with Cassie’s corpse,” The thought of Cas’s lifeless body sent shivers down Dean’s spine and left a rock in his gut. He fought against his ropes, and, to his surprise, felt a small amount of give. It was tiny, but evidently there. He twisted in order to give himself a better leverage, and tried again. A bead of sweat popped onto his brow with the strain. Crowley walked over to Castiel, knife in hand. He ceremoniously undid the buttons of Cas’s shirt, and with a flourish, ripped his tie from his neck. Cas tensed with suspense and faced Crowley with a glare.

“I’ll give you a chance to walk out of here right now. Tell me where the weapon is, and I will let you live,” Crowley said, testing the tip of the blade with his fingertip, producing a droplet of crimson liquid. “In the words of a… good friend… bite me,” Cas practically spat the last two words at Crowley.

“Your funeral,” Crowley said, hastily raising his arm to Castiel’s neck. He slowly sunk the blade in to Cas’s flesh just below his right collarbone, carving in a crooked line all the way down to his hips. Cas groaned, his vocal outburst cut short by a fist making contact with his jaw. Dean continued to struggle, but it seemed the more he fought the tighter the rope cut into his skin. His attempts became more urgent. The gash on Castiel’s chest pulsed a pale blue light, and Cas took a deep but shaky breath. He brought his face back up to stare at Crowley, tilting it ever so slightly. Crowley, in turn, stared down at him. Cas closed his eyes, and the light emitting from his wound changed from blue to gold. After seconds, the gash was gone.

“Healing yourself, are we? I’m afraid we can’t have that,” Crowley said turning towards the cart. From it he plucked a contraption that looked sickeningly familiar to Dean. Once he found a memory to go along with the feeling, he gaped in horror. It was the same contraption Crowley had used to dissect the brain of Alfie, the Wiener Hut angel. Castiel began to struggle against his cuffs, flexing and relaxing his biceps. Crowley cackled quietly, placing the leather and metal crown upon Cas’s head and secured the straps below his chin. The ring fit perfectly around Castiel’s head. Crowley wasted no time selecting a silver pin with a needle sharp tip that glinted threateningly even in the dim lighting. He placed it in a hole cut from the metal, and began to slide it painstakingly slowly into Castiel’s head. Castiel screamed, and a vial of holy oil exploded, spraying both him and Crowley with the liquid. Crowley removed his hands, leaving the pin sticking out of Castiel’s skull. His experiments with Alfie must have been more fruitful than they had imagined, if he could alter an angel’s abilities with one pin. Cas’s eyes remained screwed shut.

“And Bob’s your uncle; no more healing!” Crowley said. Cas groaned in response. Sam, who had remained motionless throughout the entire session of group therapy, stretched his fingers towards the shard of glass that Dean had noticed earlier. Dean grunted as he pulled the ropes taunt, hoping the stress would snap them. The twine began to unravel, but not fast enough. Crowley advanced upon Cas once more, with the same jagged blade he had before. He re-created the gash that previously decorated Castiel’s chest, but this time it didn’t disappear. Cas panted, blood dripping onto the grimy floor of the warehouse.

“Tell me where it is Castiel,” Crowley said as he returned to the cart, selecting a sleek and long blade, similar to the one Cas carried. He brought it to Castiel, holding it up to his eyes in order to let the angel admire it.

“Never,” Cas said simply. Crowley lowered the blade, lightly dragging the tip to Cas’s ribcage. He made a gash along the lowest left rib, and an identical one against the right. Cas cried out again, his voice cracking. Crowley hacked at Cas’s shoulder, the blade slicing through flesh as if it were melting butter. Cas cried out again, the sound echoing and magnifying along the metal walls of the warehouse. A demon stepped through a side door, into Dean’s view.

“Sir, you've got a phone call,” the demon said, his voice brimming with self-importance, “It’s Princeton.” “I’m a tad busy at the moment, tell him to leave a message,” Crowley growled. Before he could return to his work, the demon spoke up again.

“I think you’ll want to hear this, sir. It is important.” That caught Crowley’s attention. He glanced down at Castiel’s form and apparently decided to leave him with a parting gift.

“Hold this, would you?” He said, kneeling down so that he was face to face with Castiel, obstructing Dean’s view. All he could see was Cas’s face. The angel tilted his head in confusion, his brow’s crinkling. Then, suddenly, his face contorted with agony and surprise, and the angel gasped. Dean sat up, craning his neck to see what Crowley had done. The King of Hell moved, worryingly empty handed, revealing Cas’s body. Sticking straight out of Castiel’s shoulder, was the angel blade.

 

* * * * * *

Castiel gasped, his eyes widening with shock, but did not scream. He must not scream. He owed Dean that much. Cas could see the terror and emotional trauma plastered across Dean’s face even though he was the one being tortured. It pained Dean to see him hurt, and then in turn pained Castiel to see Dean worried. So therefore, Castiel must not scream. He must, as Sam would put it, _hang in there_ , or perhaps, _stay strong_. The task appears tauntingly simple, a mere restriction of vocal outbursts, yet in reality, the concept is ludicrously difficult. Although to be fair, everything was harder when one was encompassed in a blinding amount of pain. He breathed deeply, disgruntled by the fact that even the slightest of movements racked his body in fresh agony. He did not, of course, require oxygen, but he found that it helped to have a goal. In, out, in, out. Ah, how wonderful it is to have an achievable goal! So many of his other plans and efforts have worked out so poorly. _In, out, in, out._ Although preoccupying as it might be, breathing was hardly going to help Sam, Dean and himself escape. _In, out, in, out_. But for the time being, it was all he could do.

* * * * * *

Dean gazed anxiously at Castiel, who was shaking with every breath he took. The three demons were still standing smugly behind him. His gaze shifted towards the door Crowley had exited out of.

_C’mon man, think! Your best friend is being tortured, your brother is tied to a pole, an all you can do is sit here? How ‘bout that glass by Sammy, huh?_

Then an idea popped into is head. He swiveled his legs to the right, stretching them as far as they would go and then some. He pointed his toes, and they stretched the extra inch he needed.

_Okay, you’ve got one shot at this. Don’t screw it up._

He drew back his leg, and swung it forward, sending the glass soaring into Sam’s bound hands.

* * * * * *

Sam was thinking about books when he felt the cold, smooth, and sharp object collide with his open palm. He couldn’t help it, it just kinda came to mind. Man, Dean would never let him live this one down if he knew. Cas was being tortured, put through Hell by the looks of it, his brother and he were tied to poles, and Sam Winchester was thinking about books. And now, instead of acting, he was thinking about thinking about books. Seriously.

His thoughts immediately returned to reality as the hope-filled item began to dig into Sam’s palm, the very spot he had used as a weapon against Satan. He grasped it with skilled fingers, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. He sawed slowly but efficiently at the twine that held him. The demons’ heads had turned towards them once the glass scraped across the floor on its journey to Sam’s hand.

They had all been watching Castiel, probably imaging his guts decorating the walls. Now, they walked cautiously towards them, wary of the boys’ reputation. Sam sawed frantically at the ropes, and he saw Dean straining to break free of his with pure strength. He could feel the ropes thinning, and he attempted to muscle through the remaining strands. The demons were less than 25 ft. away now, and they were all armed with knives. All at once, he felt the ropes snap away from his flesh, and Sam sprang to his feet. His cramped legs whined in protest, and he stumbled forward looking for a weapon.

_Hey look, a cart filled with lethal weapons that work on demons!_

He ran at full sprint to the cart, which was about 35 ft. away. The demons scrambled after him, one rushing towards Dean and the remaining two running after Sam. Once they realized his destination, however, they stopped dead in their tracks. Their eyes flitted from the cart, to the door, to Cas, and back to the cart. Sam closed his fingers around the cool metal of one sword/knife hybrid, and walked towards the hesitant demons. One demon started backing slowly towards the opposite wall, and another stayed frozen with panic before smoking out. The host screamed, then fell to the floor in a rumpled heap. The second demon apparently changed its mind, and attempted a mad dash for the door. Sam immediately raced after it, cutting it down before it reached its destination. Its eyes and mouth flickered with a blinding, golden light before the host crumpled to the ground.

* * * * * *

Dean glared at the approaching demon with the best sneer he could muster. It approached slowly, unaware that Dean was struggling through his bonds that very moment. The demon continued decreasing the distance between them, seemingly unaware of the chaos happening around it. When it was mere feet away, it crouched down to Dean, positioning his face so that it was inches away from Dean’s. He let his eyes switch to black. With no warning, the demon’s eyes and mouth shone golden light, the host’s face frozen in a look of confusion. The body crumpled to the floor, revealing Sam standing behind it with a blood soaked knife. In the same instant the host hit the floor, Dean broke free of his ropes, and brought his bruised wrists in front of his body. He stood up, rubbing the circulation back into his hands.

“Little late for the party,” Sam commented gravely, wiping a droplet of blood from his face. They both hurried to Castiel, who raised his head to stare quizzically at the brothers.

“Dean…” he groaned.

“Hey Cas, it’s gonna be OK. Just hang tight and we’ll get you out of here,” Dean replied, feverishly undoing the clasps holding his left leg and arm in place. Sam unfastened the right, and gingerly removed the pin sticking out of Cas’s skull. The angel groaned, and closed his eyes as Dean removed the crown. Sam gingerly freed the blade from Castiel’s shoulder, and placed that, the crown, and the pin back on the cart. Sam supported Cas as he attempted to stand, opening his eyes as he did so.

He stared at Dean for a second, as if searching for words. Suddenly, his eyes fluttered and his knees buckled. Dean grabbed him by the underarms, the sudden pressure applied to his bad shoulder jerking him back into consciousness. He gasped, and Sam gave Dean a look that clearly said ‘He can’t make it past Crowley’. Dean focused on Cas, and attempted to keep him awake by engaging him in conversation.

“So Cas, how do you propose we get out of here?” Apparently Cas took that as a request instead of a question. He released Dean’s grasp, standing unsteadily on his own feet. He raised two fingers to both Sam and Dean’s foreheads, but before he could do anything, the door flew open and Crowley stepped in. Dean and Sam heard a faint ‘Bullocks’ before Cas pressed down his fingers and the warehouse disappeared, replaced with the putrid green decor of a motel room.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer** : I reference a song in this one, I do not own it nor am I responsible for it 

* * *

“Dammit Cas!” Dean groaned as his feet hit solid ground once again, “Give us a little warning next time, would ya?” Sam walked unsteadily to the twin beds against one wall of the cramped room and perched himself on one. They both looked around, expecting Castiel to appear suddenly, probably disregarding Dean’s requests for personal space. But he didn’t. In fact, it was hours later, while they were investigating the warehouse they had been held captive in, when Castiel appeared.

“How ‘bout this one in Mesquite, Nevada? Looked, what, 70 x 70 ft.? This one fits that…” Dean said warily, stifling a yawn. His concern for Cas was growing with every minute that passed, and quickly being replaced with dread. Sam shrugged, drowsiness taking control. Dean glanced at the alarm clock, which blared 3:26AM in bright green numbers.

“Dean, half the warehouses in America fit that description.” Sam said blearily.

“Yeah, well-” Dean’s sarcastic response was cut short by a crash from the other side of the room.

“Cas!” They both shouted at once, springing from their chairs despite their tiredness. The trench coat covered angel lay sprawled awkwardly across the floor, between the two beds. His eyes were shut and his shirt was drenched in blood.

“Help me get him on the bed,” Dean barked at Sam, taking the upper body carefully in his arms. Sam lifted Castiel’s legs, his face contorted into a countenance of worry. Dean lowered him gently onto the ugly comforter, and Sam followed suit. Cas’s head lolled to the side.

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Sam said breathlessly, hurrying to the bathroom. Dean felt for a pulse, his own heart fluttering as he felt nothing. Then, like a distant thunder clap, he felt a weak beat. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, and lowered his hands. He moved them to the buttons on Cas’s dress shirt, undoing them cautiously. He pulled the cloth off his chest, rolling it down to Cas’s elbows but leaving it on his back. It appeared Cas had attempted to slow the bleeding, and had partially succeeded, but not fully. The small, focused hole in his forehead from Crowley’s pin had completely stopped bleeding, but there was still a chance there was damage below the surface. Sam returned to his side, and let out a slow breath when he caught sight of Cas.

“I felt for a pulse. It’s weak, but there.” Dean grunted, taking the kit from Sam. He lifted the plastic white lid, and took out a pack of gauze, thread, and a needle.

“Get some whiskey and water,” Dean told Sam, but he was already on it, walking to the kitchen. Dean attempted to put his feelings for Cas aside, the anxiety, guilt and confusion, and tried to focus on the task at hand. Cas’s chest was riddled with gashes and cuts, but the wound on his shoulder was by far the most gruesome. Dean gingerly lifted Castiel, so he could inspect the wound from behind. Sam returned with the requested supplies and sat next to Cas, opposite Dean.

“It goes all the way through,” Dean said without looking at Sam. He could picture Sam’s concerned expression just fine anyways. Sam placed a few sheets of gauze under Cas’s shoulder, in an attempt to stop the bleeding from the behind as well. Dean laid Cas back onto the bed and Dean applied pressure onto the front of the wound, his hand concealed in fresh pads of gauze.

“Dean, we took the pins out, right? So why hasn’t he healed himself yet?” Sam splashed the alcohol on one of the gashes across Cas’s stomach. Dean removed one hand from Cas’s shoulder and pressed gauze on the cut once Sam had cleaned it. Cas blinked his eyes open.

“Hey, Cas. What took you so long?” Sam said with lighthearted sarcasm.

Cas cleared his throat and said, “It took me a while to get the destination correct. I am not at full power.” Dean shot Cas a confused look.

“You can’t zap? Is that like an after taste to the Crowley treatment?” Dean tapped his own forehead, where estimated Cas’s cut would be. Castiel repositioned himself, grimacing as he did so. He moved so that he was sitting up while leaning against the backboard of the bed. He waited a minute before answering.

“I believe so, but I assume it is only temporary.”

“And just how long is temporary?” Dean questioned, his muscular hands holding down the gauze. The angel sighed and wetted his lips.

“I estimate it will be no longer than five days,” Dean exhaled, relieved. He had been expecting the answer to be much more consequential, because it always was. His relief was short lived, however, because then a troubling question came to mind.

“How much damage did he do?” The question caused the angel to tilt his head in confusion, eyebrows furrowed. Dean rolled his eyes and clarified.

“What all can’t you do? Flying, healing I’m assuming because of, well…” he gestured to Cas with his a jerk of his head and continued, “so what else is on the fritz?” Castiel paused, as if assessing himself.

He said, “I seem to be able to hear my brothers and sisters communicate, and I can fly somewhat as I was able to get you two here-”

“Yeah thanks for that,” Sam interrupted. Castiel nodded towards him and resumed speaking.

“But I believe that is all. No healing, as you said, and I cannot kill or exorcise demons.” Dean nodded grimly.

“Some of these need stitches, and we need to keep you alive and kicking ‘til your mojo comes back.” Cas nodded and let his hands fidget with the corners of his not-so-white shirt. Dean removed his hands from the gauze and picked up the needle and thread. He expertly threaded the needle on the first try, chose a cut, and began sewing his angel back together.

* * *

 Two hours of repetition and writhing later, Dean walked into the bathroom, turning on the luke-warm taps. He rinsed the blood off his hands and splashed his face, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He scanned the countertop for the Aspirin, and picked up the bottle, the pills rattling around inside. He filled a Dixie cup with water, and brought the items back to Cas, who was still sitting quietly atop the bed.

“Here, take these. It’ll help” He added when he spotted Cas’s skeptical look. He placed the water on the bedside table, and shook a few pills from the bottle. He placed these carefully into Castiel’s outstretched palm.

“Eat these. Don’t chew them, just swallow.” Dean turned around to retrieve the cup of water, but by the time he had turned around to face the bed, Cas’s hands were folded neatly across his chest, and empty.

“Uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He said innocently.

“Where are the pills?” He gestured around the room without breaking eye contact. He was met with a confused look from Cas.

“I ate them, like you asked. Is something the matter…?” He added with a confused look. Dean chuckled and shook his head.

“Well, it’s just that… never mind. You look like you’re about to pass out Cas.” He was right. The angel could barely keep his eyes open.

“Why don’t you catch some Zs? We’ll stay here for a bit, okay?” Castiel closed his eyes and nodded. Dean walked over to the table in the middle of the room, and took a seat. Sam, already seated, looked up from his laptop to acknowledge Dean’s presence.

“The guy looks like he went ten rounds with Wolverine, but he’s gonna be fine. How’s the, uh, research?” Dean said, pointing at the illuminated screen shining a faint blue haze on Sam’s face.

“Dead-ends. Nothing on the warehouse, no tells in weather patterns, murders, disappearances, nothing. Hell, there isn’t even a lost dog for miles. It’s all too quiet…” Sam concluded, suspicion creeping into his insomnia-muddled voice. He passed a hand through his hair and used the other to close his laptop with a *click*.

Dean pulled up a chair that looked like it could’ve been on Antiques Road Show, and sat down.

He exhaled deeply, and said, “So, basically, something’s up.”

“Basically,”

“And we got no clue what, where, when, or how.”

“Yep,”

“And all we can do is wait.”

“Correct-a-mundo,”

“Awesome.”

“Mmhmm,” Sam looked behind Dean, to the bed Cas occupied. A faint snore drifted towards them, and Dean smiled. Leave it to Cas to be adorable at a time like this. Granted, he wasn’t exactly aware of his adorable-ness, but still. He decided to bring the conversation back to something more helpful.

“So, what about those angel blades Crowley had? The ones he used on Cas weren’t exactly standard issue…” Dean trailed off. Sam looked fairly annoyed with the question, probably due to sleep deprivation, but answered anyways.

“Hey, yeah, come to think of it. They looked custom made.” Sam answered, concern replacing the annoyance in his countenance. He knitted his eyebrows and grimly said,

“What if he’s got some kind of weapon maker that can supply the angel blades? If he knows how to make them… he can do a lot more than torture Cas.”

“Yeah,” Dean shivered just thinking about it.

“Speaking of which, what do you think Crowley wanted from Cas? That’s why he was torturing him, information. What did he want?” Dean asked.

“Dean, I don’t know. I don’t know everything!” He snapped.

“Okay dude, white flag,” Dean said holding his hands up in mock surrender, “why don’t you get some sleep too then? You can take the bed.” Dean stood up, ready to arrange to furniture to make space for him on the floor. Sam looked longingly at the ugly-yet-welcoming mattress, but turned down the offer.

“No, you just spent the last few hours sticking needles into your best friend… I think you should have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” Dean nodded gratefully, and practically rolled into the bed. Sam bitterly moved the table and chairs away, and sat down on the floor. Dean tore the comforter off the bed and threw it to Sam. After a second of hesitation, he glumly threw the pillow to him as well. He got the mattress, he could make a few sacrifices. Even if it meant a sore neck the next day.

“Night, Sammy, sleep well.” He called to the lump of blanket on the floor. All he got in reply was a ‘Mmmpff’ that he assumed to be a rather rude term. He grinned to himself and buried his exhausted figure in the blankets, letting fatigue take hold.

* * *

Dean was awake first. He shook Sammy awake, and the Sasquatch lumbered into their meager excuse for a kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He walked over to Cas’s bed, his own clothes rumpled and hair messy. He was sleeping peacefully, chest rhythmically rising and falling. He hated to wake him from such a deep sleep, but he needed to check in and change the wrappings. He said Cas’s name, and nothing happened. He repeated the word, this time a little louder. Castiel jolted and opened his eyes, frantically looking around. He instantly calmed when he saw Dean.

“Dean…?” Cas said, sleep muddling his voice. His hair was ruffled in the most adorable fashion, and his body was wrapped up in a cocoon of blankets. In the morning, Dean thought, he just looks so precious.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean said. Cas gave him with a confused look. Dean’s face reddened and a sense of overwhelming embarrassment flooded through him. Why the hell did he say that? He cleared his throat and tried to cover the statement.

“So, uh, how’re you feeling?” Cas’s face cleared and he endeavored to sit up. Dean lifted the first-aid kit he had left on the nightstand between the beds.

“Better than before, but not very much so. My shoulder…” He trailed off, attempting to find his shoulder amongst the blankets. He winced once he moved his torso. Dean tried to help him move slowly and without causing him any more pain. He peeled back the layers of blankets to reveal Cas’s chest, unclothed excepting the various pieces of gauze.

“Not bad...” Dean said inspecting various gashes and how the stitches were holding up.

“Healing like normal. There won’t be any…” Dean trailed off. He was met with Cas’s signature look of confusion.

“Any what Dean?” Dean sighed. Sometimes it was so much easier talking to Sam.

“You know, surprises? Like you’re not gonna bleed goo like a Leviathan, right?”

“No, I do not believe so.”

“Good. I need to change the wrappings on your shoulder, but the rest should be fine.” Dean said. He opened the kit and retrieved the dwindled supplies of gauze they had left. At that moment, Sam walked in with a cup of coffee.

“Hey Cas, how do you feel?” He said, smiling at the angel.

“Better than before,” He said, deciding to leave it at that. Sam handed Dean the coffee, and asked Cas if he wanted anything.

“I do not require sustenance, but perhaps a glass of water.” Cas replied, and Dean went over to the kitchen to grab a chair. He brought it back and swung it down next to Cas’s bed. Sam quickly returned with the water, held in a Dixie cup. Cas took it with is good hand, and Dean noticed it shaking slightly while he held it. He brought the clear liquid to his lips and took a few sips. He set the cup back down on the nightstand. Dean took the opportunity to begin unwrapping the gauze on Cas’s shoulder. Cas winced, so Dean attempted to fill the silence clouding the room and keep Cas’s mind off the pain.

“So, Cas, what did Crowley want yesterday? Why’d he torture you?”

“He wants something… the location of something. A certain weapon of Heaven.” Cas hesitated.

“Please continue, Castiel.” Sam said, perched lightly on the end of the bed. Cas took a deep breath.

“This weapon has the power to enchant any weapon of man, and turn it into an angel blade. With this he will be able to create an arsenal of weapons, even more deadly than Heaven’s.” Dean and Sam exchanged looks, and Sam chimed in.

“So why haven’t the angels used it to buff up their weapons cache? If it can give you, like, guns or canons or something, why not go for it?”

“Because,” Cas said, “with every weapon made there is a price. In order for the weapon to reach its full potential, it requires a fragment of an angel’s grace. The grace is infused within the weapon, giving it the power of an angel blade. Crowley would have needed an angel. I believe that is what he intended to do with me after I revealed the location to him, but thankfully we were able to escape before then.” Dean breathed heavily, letting the news sink in. He finished peeling the gauze from Cas, and inspected the wound. He wanted to keep Cas talking.

“Where is it then?” he asked. “It was one of many that Balthazar stole, but Heaven has reclaimed them all. It is still located in their vaults.” Dean nodded, at least that was relatively good news. Heaven is the one place the King of Hell simply can’t go.

“Looks better, Cas," he said, referring to the wounds, "not infected, stopped bleeding. I’m gonna put a new wrap on it though so you don’t agitate it when you move.” He held the end of gauze in place below the wound, near Cas’s ribcage. He slowly but efficiently twisted the coil around and around his shoulder. He asked if it was too tight, and once Cas shook his head, he tucked the end of the roll below the other layers so it wouldn’t unravel. Once he was finished, Sam nudged him.

“Dean. We’re pretty low on supplies. Food, beer,” he nodded at Cas, “gauze and medical stuff, we need to make a run. I think the nearest store is an hour away.” Dean nodded.

“I’ll go. You can stay with Cas. You want anything?” Sam scoffed.

“You want to pick out fruit and protein shakes for me? By all means...” Dean looked hesitant once he heard the food he would be purchasing.

“You want me to go instead?” Sam offered, “You can stay with Cas and I’ll-”

“And let you forget the pie again? No thanks. Let’s just both go. We can get some grub on the way too.” Sam agreed, and Dean looked to Cas.

“You’ll be okay on your own for a bit, right?” Cas nodded and the Winchesters stood up to leave.

“You’ve got my number, so call if you need anything.” Cas nodded again. Sam gave him a few short lessons in how a phone works, and once Cas got the hang of it, he bid them farewell. 

* * *

Dean listened to the familiar rev of the engine as he sped up the desolate highway. The radio was playing a classic rock station, the sky was clear, all was well. For the first time in a while, Dean was feeling pretty good. Cas was getting better, Crowley’s plan has been foiled, he’s getting pie, Sam was actually okay, he’s getting PIE, it was just a good day. Also, did he mention the pie? The song ended, and a brief spurt of ads played. Something about life insurance. He glanced at Sam, who was passed out cold in the passenger seat. Must’ve had a rough night on the floor. The radio returned to its music, and a familiar beat swept through the speakers. He hummed along until it reached the chorus.

 _IT WAS THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT_ … Sam jerked awake and slammed off the radio. Dean swerved by the sudden movement, but quickly corrected his course. Good thing the road was deserted.

“Whoa, dude, chill! No Asia then?” Sam glared at him, breathing heavily.

“No. Asia.” Sam replied sternly, leaving Dean perplexed.

“Okay, okay… sheesh. Well, good timing anyways. We’re ‘bout there.” He said, with a grunt from Sam in return. Suddenly, the younger brother twisted in his seat so he could see the entire backseat.

“Sam, what’re you looking for?” Dean questioned, baffled. Sam twisted back into his seat, and looked at Dean.

“Gabriel.” He said, giving Dean a look that clearly stated just forget it. So Dean did. 

* * *

 The rest of the car ride was in total silence, Sam having refused to turn the radio back on. They were both grateful when they finally pulled into the diner. The sign shone BIGERSON’S in bright red letters. Dean got out of the car first, eager to fill his stomach and stretch his cramped legs. Sam immediately followed suit. Together they strolled into the diner. They quickly scoped out the other customers, keeping a wary eye out for suspicious behavior. Dean chose a weathered booth and plopped down. Sam sat across to him, his eyes casually considering all possible exits out of habit. Dean took this opportunity to take note of his little brother. Eyes slightly red, probably less sleep than previously estimated. Other than that, he looks good. Wrists a bit raw from the ropes we were held in, but nothing too serious.

“How you doing Sammy?” Dean asked, fixing his steely gaze upon the taller man. Sam allowed his eyes to return to Dean’s, and shrugged.

“Fine… you?” He replied, rubbing his wrists. Dean shrugged in turn, scratching his head where he had been hit, now complete with a rough scab that was forming.

“Not bad… Well, better than Cas anyways.” He said, forcing a laugh to keep their banter somewhat light-hearted. A blond Barbie-doll waitress stepped up to their table and handed them each a laminated menu, and stated the specials. Her speech concluded with a well-rehearsed smile, spreading all the way into her makeup covered eyes. Dean returned the smile with his signature joker grin, and turned to the menu. Pancakes, sausage, muffins, eggs, and cholesterol bombarded his eyes. _Boy, Sammy’s gonna have a tough time here,_ he thought slyly. He decided on a small stack of pancakes with bacon and a coffee. The waitress returned, and he placed his order. Sam did the same, ordering a fruit salad and an iced tea. Once she had returned to the kitchen, Sam turned to Dean.

“How is Cas… really?” Dean thought a moment, and replied.

“Well, the wounds look thin, but they’re pretty deep. They’ll probably take a while to heal, if he can’t get juiced up before then. He’ll be fine. He’s, you know, tough for a little nerdy dude with wings. Actually, scratch that. I’d say he’s more than ‘a little nerdy dude with wings’. He’s practically my best friend, he deserves some credit.”

“Your best friend? He played God and murdered thousands in Heaven and on Earth. He made an alliance with Crowley. He-” Dean cut him short, aware of the many faults their winged ally had made.

“So? You’ve done just about as many things as him and I still call you my brother. At least he came back and tried to fix it all.” Sam shrugged, taken aback by Dean’s strong opinion on the matter.

“It doesn’t matter what his social status is, okay?” Dean looked just about ready to end the discussion, but then he decided to finish the matter once and for all.

“No Sammy, it’s not okay. Cas is our friend, no matter what. He deserves more than he gets. He helps us, he’s a good guy, and he doesn’t need to be bullied by you, of all people. Just leave him alone.” Sam stared at Dean for a long moment, deciding where this outburst originated. He held up his hands in surrender.

“Alright man, he’s our friend. Better now?” Dean shrugged and focused his attention on his hands, folded on the table. A minute passed in silence, the only noises were those from tales around them. The waitress brought their food, and placed bundles of utensils on the table. She smiled and asked if there was anything else they needed. Dean grinned back.

“Thank you…Vanessa, I think we’re good.” He said, reading the name tag printed in black letters. She smiled again and turned to walk away. As soon as she turned, Dean’s eyes followed her trek to the kitchen. He smiled slightly at what he saw. Sam sighed in exasperation and started on his breakfast. Then, the waitress’s path crossed a foe-silver platter polished so well you could see the entire room’s reflection in it. When she crossed it, Dean saw that her smile had disappeared, replaced with a sneer. Her eyes were pitch black.

“Sam, did you hear about our waitress and the platypus?” He said, turning to Sam. His smile had vanished.

* * *

 When Sam heard the code word “platypus”, meaning demon, he put his fork down and compulsively reached for the demon blade hidden in his jacket, only to remember that Crowley had taken all of their weapons. Damn, he wished they had time to restock. He nodded his understanding.

“We can’t go in guns blazing, there’s witnesses and bystanders. Don’t really want to get back on the police radar anyways.” He said in a hushed voice.

Dean nodded, and said, “I think I’ve got an idea…” He said, and the waitress walked back to their table.

“How are your first bites?” She asked sweetly, keeping character. Dean smiled his signature smile, and replied. “Delicious. You know, you look really familiar… you don’t work part time as an actress, do you?” She laughed and threw her blond hair behind her shoulders.

“You think so? I guess people always told me I have high cheekbones, and they say Virgos are more likely to star in movies…”

“Really? I think you’d go far, with those cheekbones…” he said, “Listen, when does your shift end? I’d love to see what other surprises you have…” She smiled and took out a pen. She grabbed a napkin from their table, making a point of leaning across Dean’s line of sight. While she wrote down her number on the napkin, Dean gave Sam a look saying ‘am I good or am I good?’, and she handed Dean the napkin.

“Why don’t you pick me up at 2:00? That’s when my shift ends. Actually, why don’t you bring your friend?” she said looking at Sam, “My cousin is in town and she’s looking for somebody to hook up with…”

“It’s a date. Thanks Vanessa.” She smiled, winked at Sam who awkwardly smiled in return, and left.

“I just seduced a demon.” Dean said, looking terrified. Sam grimaced sympathetically, and nodded.

“That’s wrong on so many levels.” Sam nodded again, and attempted to comfort him.

“Well, she was playing along. Actually, she’s probably gonna try to kill us behind the diner or something. Remember, she doesn’t know we know so we should use that to our advantage.” Dean nodded in agreement, and was about to respond, when his phone rang.

* * *

 Dean checked the caller ID, and answered immediately.

“Cas? What is it?” At the mention of Cas’s name, Sam went from curious to alert. The angel responded in his low, steady voice.

“Dean, something’s wrong.” He could hear grunts, as if Cas was trying to move, rather painfully.

“There’s somebody-” He cut off, and Dean could hear voices on the other end of the line. His tone turned panicked when he tried to get more information from Cas.

“Cas is somebody there? Did they find you?”

“Dean, I-” The line went dead. Dean snapped his phone closed, and described the conversation with Sam. He cursed himself for being stupid enough to leave Cas alone and injured, while the King of Hell was looking specifically for him.

“Sam, we can’t stay. I need to help Cas. We might be able to make it back here for the date, but we need to help Cas. If Crowley found him…” Sam nodded, and he placed a 20 dollar bill on the table. Their waitress watched them go, and smiled, her eyes switching to black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never leave your favorite angel alone when the King of Hell is after him... Who will get to him first; Dean or Crowley?

The brothers sped down the highway, going twice the speed limit. Clouds as ominous and foreboding as Dean’s thoughts rumbled and rolled overhead, the nimble pattering of rain drumming on the windows and windshield. The radio remained off, adding to the tension stewing in the car. Dean’s gaze was focused like a laser on the spans of road ahead, his body rigid and still. Sam decided he would try to comfort his brother.

“He could be fine. Maybe he fought them off?” He suggested with a heavy heart. He knew that Cas couldn’t exorcise or kill a demon in his state, let alone without his powers. Dean nodded, wishing he could believe the words his brother was saying. How could he have defended himself, when he could barely sit up this morning without wincing? His subconscious was nagging at him, anticipating the worst.

 _He’s dead and you know it, he thought. You didn’t even give him anything to kill a demon with. You left him defenseless. Your best friend. How can you be so stupid? It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten Sammy killed too… oh wait, you have. More than once. What kind of a brother are you? Better yet, what kind of a person are you?_ Dean shook his head, imagining the thoughts tumbling out of his mind through his ears.

"Maybe they weren't even demons, just room service or something?" Sam said with foe-hopefulness, trying to ease both of their minds.

"We told them not to come in." Dean growled. He could feel himself growing more and more high-strung with each mile that passed.

"Could be just some-" Sam started. But Dean cut him off.

"No, Sam, it couldn't. Know why? Because when people hang around us, they get hurt. It's not just gonna be some towel lady who happened to walk in, because that doesn't happen to us. We don't have lucky breaks. All of our friends die or get hurt or worse. You think Cas is gonna be an exception?!" He yelled. Sam stared at him for a second. He looked like a kicked puppy. Then he turned and stared out the window, his back facing Dean.

 _Jeez, all he needs now is some sad music and he could be something straight out of a chick flick,_ Dean thought snidely. Deep down, however, he could feel a monster of guilt rising up in him, suffocating him. He felt guilt-ridden for snapping at Sam, leaving Cas, not being the righteous man he was supposed to be. He was supposed to be the older, more judicious brother with all the answers. The brother that always knew everything and did the right thing. This monster writhing inside him would not be slain easily, like all the others he faces. If only. The rest of the drive was in utter silence.

* * *

They arrived at the motel around noon. The hotel sign shone its name in hazy blue letters, but distorted by the rain, so it was as if seeing it blotted and smudged. The second the car jerked to a halt, Dean leapt out with his favorite gun in his hand. He made the short trek to their door, and found it ominously unlocked. He pushed it open and raised his gun, hurrying into the dim room. Although it was almost too dark to see, he attempted to scope out the room, searching for signs of life. His attempts were fruitless and provided him with no clue as to the state of the room or any occupants. He flipped the light switch, only wavering his line of sight for a second.

Light flooded into the room. The scene laid out before Dean made his stomach drop with horror, fear, and hopelessness. The chairs were over turned, one even had a wooden leg that was splintered into a million fragments. The bed covers were torn completely off the mattress, and splattered with blood in multiple places. Streaks of blood were everywhere; apparently there was a struggle. Dean hoped that not all of the blood was Cas’s. Sam entered the room silently, gun raised. Dean’s had long since fallen to his side in shock and dismay. He’d seen crime scenes before, but since this was Cas, it took a personal turn and flipped the situation upside-down. He noticed the trench coat was gone; probably the demon’s attempt to conceal Cas’s wounds as to not draw attention to themselves. He walked to their beds, both mattresses slightly off center from the frames. Cas was laying here this morning, he thought, now he could be dead or held hostage somewhere. He trailed his fingers over a patch of blood on the once-white mattress, and was surprised to find it wet and warm. It hadn’t cooled or hardened yet. Then something clicked in his brain.

“Sam this blood is fresh,” He declared. Sam shrugged, not understanding his meaning.

“So? You were driving like, 3x over the speed limit. I’m sure we were close.” He said. Dean walked over to Sam and whispered in his ear.

“No, _fresh_. They’re still here.” Sam’s eyes widened, and he nodded his understanding. Silently, they both scoured the motel room for any possible areas that could conceal an angel and a demon or two. Sam nudged Dean and he turned and looked where Sam was pointing. Across the room, the bathroom door was closed, but there was a faint glow of light coming from the crack under it. He nodded, raising his gun which was loaded with rock salt. Sam raised his. They both wished they’d had time to get Ruby’s knife back from Crowley. But they’d have to make do. Together, they silently moved towards the door. Dean’s heart was pounding, fearful of what he’d find on the other side. He couldn’t lose Cas again, not to Crowley. He didn’t even consider the possibilities of what could happen if Crowley got an angel to power his weapon, he only thought about Cas.

They reached the door, and Sam took the knob in his hand, standing to the side. Dean stood in front with his gun cocked and ready. Sam started to count down to one. Three; he thought of what he was going to do if someone was on the other side. Two; he thought of what he would do if Cas was on the other side. One; he thought of Cas. Sam swung the door open, and Dean ran inside the cramped room. On the floor, bloody and tied up, was Cas. He had duct tape covering his mouth and ropes binding his hands and feet together. He jumped when the door opened, his eyes filled with fear and urgency.

“Cas!” Dean exclaimed, dropping to his knees to help him. His gun was discarded as he peeled the tape slowly off his mouth. Before it was even fully off, Cas tried to tell Dean something. But what came out was muffled and unrecognizable.

“Hang on buddy, just a second.” Dean said, urging Cas to be patient. By now Sam had also squeezed into the small space and started untying Cas’s hands, being held behind his back with twine. The door had been closed in the hurry, by a stray arm or leg. Dean peeled off the last of the tape, leaving a patch of skin that was slightly reddened from agitation. One word escaped from Cas’s mouth before the door flew open.

“Trap."

* * *

The bathroom was so small that when the door flew open, it collided sharply with Sam’s abdomen effectively pinning him between the wall and door. Dean had time to spin around and reach for his gun before two demons marched inside, leaving the door wide open. Before Dean could wrap his fingers around the gun, one demon possessing a teenage boy with black, spiked hair kicked it away, leaving it to ricochet off the wall and spin to a stop. Dean attempted to stand and claim the upper hand, but as soon as he made it to his feet he was struck down with a crushing kick to the stomach.

“Dean!” Cas yelled, struggling to free his hands. Sam had loosened the ropes, but not entirely. Cas strained, forcing his bonds apart far enough to free his hands. He screamed in pain because of the movement of his shoulder. He started to work on the ropes around his ankles. Sam pushed the door halfway closed then back against the wall, allowing him to stand and clear a shot at the second demon, who was possessing a middle aged woman with red hair. He raised his gun, aimed at the leg of the possessed woman, and fired. She was blasted through the open doorway, and crashed to the ground. Salt filled bullets couldn’t kill demons, but it could sure hurt them. Sam quickly shot the second demon near its bicep, making it screech with pain. Dean stood up, coughing and rubbing his stomach. He helped Cas stand while Sam held off the demons. Dean quickly located his gun and helped Cas to the counter.

“Stay here.” Dean said, giving him a death-stare saying he means business. Cas nodded, reluctant to be useless but also aware that he was in no state to fight demons. That was apparent by how easily they ambushed and captured him earlier today. He leaned heavily on the counter top, watching the Winchesters and holding his shoulder. Sam had his gun pointed at the demon possessing the teenaged boy, and Dean had his pointed at the woman. Simultaneously, they opened their mouths and black smoke spewed forth. Each victim screamed, and as soon as the demons were gone the bodies fell unconscious. Sam lowered his gun and checked each person for a pulse, and announced that they were both alive. He hastily raided the bathroom for various pieces of cloth, and settled with towels that were a soon-to-be-stained shade of peach. Sam attempted to stop any bleeding from the bullets while Dean helped Cas. He ran to Castiel quicker than he anticipated, and nearly tripped over the legs of the unconscious woman.

“Cas! You ok?” Dean inquired, easing some of Cas’s weight onto himself and therefore off the angel’s feet.

“Yes, Dean, thank you. I am glad you arrived before they were able to do anything more to me.”

“Yeah, buddy, me too. C’mon, let’s get you to the bed.” Cas nodded and allowed Dean to guide him to the patterned bedspread, now flecked with his blood. Cas sat, and Dean kneeled before him.

“D’you think any of your stitches tore?” Dean asked, gingerly moving his hands over Cas’s torso. He examined every hint of thread that peeked out from Cas’s even skin.

“I do not believe so, but I do not have much experience in this area. I might not know if it did or not.” He watched Dean, marveling at the preciseness of his actions.

“Ah!” Cas grunted when Dean moved his hands over a particular gash across the left of his ribcage. Dean looked up at the cry and his eyes met Cas’s. In that moment, their gazes were held by a force outside of this world, and Dean could see into Cas’s eyes. For the first time, he could see into Cas’s eyes. The blue he found there was the color of his childhood bedroom walls, his first bicycle, his mother’s favorite hair ribbon. The color dusted upon his lips when he nearly froze during a winter hunt in Michigan. The glowing color of a Djinn’s eyes just before he stabbed it with a silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood. He blinked, and the background came back into focus. Cas was still gazing through his apple-green eyes, his mouth parted slightly showing his front teeth. Dean cleared his throat.

“Does, uh, this one hurt?” he asked. Cas nodded. Sam had been staring at the pair of them, then scoffed and backed out of the room to the car.

“Grab some gauze, would ya?” he called after Sam. He then examined the wound and came to the conclusion that the thread hadn’t torn, but it stretched Cas’s skin uncomfortably so.

“You’ll be ok. I’ll replace the gauze, then we ought to hit the road again. What’dya say?” “I think that plan is logical,” Cas replied evenly. Dean smirked slightly before answering.

“Alright, Spock.” Sam returned with the gauze, and together they wound some around Cas.

“Perhaps we should call for an ambulance or something of the like before we depart? For the injured humans…” Cas suggested, looking towards the silent and unmoving bodies on the floor. Dean and Sam shared a glance and silently agreed. Dean helped Cas into the backseat of the car while Sam finished up the call. The rain had retreated, leaving its legacy on the damp pavement and in the water droplets still glistening on the hood of the Impala.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean called, “Why don’t you drive.” He threw the keys to his younger brother, who gave a questioning glance but dismissed it as soon as he saw the look in Dean’s eye as he opened the door and ducked in. 


End file.
